


Why I'm Here

by Aifrit



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bloodhound Headcanons (Apex Legends), Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aifrit/pseuds/Aifrit
Summary: Going out hunting with Wraith was an activity Bloodhound never expected to be doing. It isn't a huge deal; they'll teach her every skill she needs to know. But everything begins to make sense when she comes clean about her presence in the first place.
Relationships: Referenced Bangalore | Anita Williams/Wraith | Renee Blasey, Referenced Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Why I'm Here

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Why I'm Here  
> Pairing: None; referenced Bloodhound/Mirage and Bangalore/Wraith  
> Rating: G  
> Words: 2124  
> A/N: Made for Apex Secret Santa on Twitter!  
> 

Despite Bloodhound’s stoic demeanor, they’re no stranger to humor. They’ve fooled many a poor soul with deadpanned quips and the expressionless visage of a mask, goggles, and old retrofitted Pilot’s helmet. However, when Wraith sauntered up to them weeks ago and asked to go hunting, they assumed they’d finally fallen victim to a horrible joke orchestrated by Elliott — their beloved Ellie — himself. Her forwardness, crossed arms and all, belied their lack of contact over the past year and a half. In short, it blindsided Bloodhound.

Their first meeting proved… _interesting_ — her Legend induction ceremony. She shook the entire time at the podium during her acceptance speech. Bloodhound understood the nervousness; being up there in front of suited investors and thousands of cheering fans watching from home is daunting. But meeting face to face? Her hands were clammy and she trembled like an excited prowler pup staring at their first earned meal. Never showed an ounce of it on her face and played it off well. Bloodhound’s learned to read people over the years, though, and if they were correct in their assumption at the time, the registered elation reeked of innocent and misplaced hero worship.

Today? Wraith’s calm. She lies back in the passenger's seat, feet kicked up, ankle over ankle on the dashboard. She's drifting, barely keeping her eyes open as she nods off. Royal blue colors the early morning sky, the sun not yet having risen past the horizon; too early for her. She's at least dressed properly for the occasion this time. Sturdy hiking boots. Cargo pants and thick shirt, too. The hunts may not last long, but prowlers are fierce — _bloodthirsty_ — and the more layers between human skin and their jaws, the better.

Bloodhound taps Wraith at the first crack of the sun's rays past the horizon. She recoils, whips her head around as her glowing white eyes fade to smoky blue. Bloodhound tips their head towards the wilderness around them.

"Do you remember why we're here this early, _Köttur_?" _Cat._ Fights as fiercely and quickly as one in the Games. A fitting nickname that Wraith quirks her lip at every time.

She wipes an eye with the heel of her palm, clears her throat and furrows thick brows. "Uhm. Prowler hunting…" A response tinged with sleep.

"Correct. Anything else?"

"Oh, uh— _shit_ … sorry. Up late last night," she whispers, running a hand over the lump in her pocket. Phone, mostly likely. Speaking to Anita, perhaps? They _have_ been growing much closer as of late. "I remember. The prowlers. They mostly hunt at night, right? Should be getting tired and ready to sleep fairly soon. Easier to track down."

Bloodhound smiles and nods. She’s attentive, at least, despite the exhaustion. Not bad for the second outing. _Aðdáunarvert_.

"Good. We should go before we lose track of them." As Bloodhound reaches into the back seat to grab the mask and helmet, Wraith observes their every move. She parts her lips — _stops_ — then twinges her upper lip in an obvious struggle to settle on words. "Is something troubling you?"

She gives a quick shake of her head. “Nothing. Just— well, I guess I’m just thinking I never pegged you as a blond. Dunno why.”

Bloodhound stops, hand hovering right over their helmet. They blink several times as they absorb Wrath’s words, fully taken aback at the random comment.

Wraith waves her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that negatively. Witt told me you were, and I just couldn’t see it for some reason. He…” She chuckles. “He talks a lot. But I'm… sure you already know that.”

An understatement. Ellie _loves_ to ramble. Not surprising that he'd mention the odd tidbit such as that. It's attractive, though, and it leaves Bloodhound to sit, listen, and admire. Expressing their own thoughts isn't something they've ever done well. They _could_ prattle on about the myriad things Ellie does that they find endearing, but they'd be sitting in this stuffy truck for hours.

At last, they grab the mask from the back seat and secure it over their nose and mouth. The helmet is next, and as Bloodhound stuffs messy blond curls under it, they train their eyes on Wraith and her intrigued gaze. She's staring, sort of, with glowing eyes and a tilt of her head.

"Can I… ask why you wear the mask and helmet?"

They pause once more, another comment that’s taken them off-guard. Two for two in such a short span of time.

The pause unsettles Wraith, and she removes her feet from the dashboard. The sun peaks over the horizon, and the first few rays highlight her nose piercing and one blue eye. She squints, adding to her visible discomfort. "I'm… rambling. Spending too much time around Witt, I guess. Sorry."

Well, yes, she's particularly chatty at the moment. Uncharacteristic of her to Bloodhound’s knowledge. But they don't mind. If Ellie’s mannerisms have rubbed off on her, then all the better.

The question itself isn't offensive — far from it — and Bloodhound has never known Wraith to be malicious in her intentions. It's genuine curiosity guiding her words. When they've secured the helmet on firmly, they hum in acknowledgement.

"Intimidation."

"Huh?"

"Why I wear the mask and helmet. To intimidate."

Wraith blinks three times and sighs a meek syllable of acceptance, “Huh…”

It's not _entirely_ true — highly sensitive skin, actually — but her face reddening and going slack jawed is priceless nonetheless. Not having visible facial expressions since childhood has been a boon for harmless jokes.

But it is getting late, and the sun and prowlers wait for no _manneskja._

"We should go before we lose track of the pack."

"Right…" Wraith whispers.

They both gather their supplies and step out of the truck. Bloodhound scans the open wilderness, inhales dirt, animal dung, and the remnants of rain on the wind. The stench of prowlers lingers in the air, but they’re nowhere in sight, have moved on. They'll have to stalk them from here. Perfect timing for another test, though.

Bloodhound waves Wraith over, squats down to study the ground beneath their boots. "What do you see, _Köttur_?"

Wraith follows suit, squats too as she glances between them and the loamy earth and grass beneath her feet. Her boots crease and fold as she leans forward, a dark brow raising in suspicion.

They study her, quirk their nose at her fervent search on the badlands floor. With nimble but careful fingers, she runs them over a dip in the mud.

"Prowler prints," she says, glancing at them. Seeking approval?

Bloodhound approaches to study the impressions. Still fresh in the dirt are multiple sets of animal paw prints. Three toes, three claws, quadrupedal gait. Definitely prowlers.

"Correct."

They hold eye contact. There's more to the story here, and they're eager to see if their protégé deciphers the text.

Wraith continues. "Uhm. There’s one at least, and—” Her eyes dart around. “Wait. There’s _more_ than one set here. Overlapping. Moving the same direction.” She hums.

Getting warmer.

“Some of these prints are fresh,” she whispers, circling a fingertip around the rim of one in particular. “Still wet. Pressed into the mud recently. Others are… hmm… they're drier. _Cracked_ mud here. All the fresh prints look like they came from the same prowler. Which means…"

She peers up, but Bloodhound tips their head in encouragement. She’s doing well so far, and it would be a disservice to discourage her.

"Which means… It's a pack. Three sets of prints I'm seeing now. One is lagging behind for some reason. Was here not too long ago — the wet prints. I’m guessing it’s injured? I don’t see any blood, though.”

Smart.

Bloodhound smirks. “Potentially. The absence of _blóð_ does not mean there are no injuries. Could be internal. Think deeper.”

Wraith nods in agreement. “Right. That, or maybe it’s old. Or sick.”

“Good. Let me take a look.”

She’s right. There _are_ more tracks here than expected, but she’s missed a set, a smaller one hidden in a patch of grass. It’s not the biggest or most egregious fledgling mistake; they’ve made plenty worse as a child. But Wraith learns quickly. Bloodhound glows with pride.

“Always be mindful of your enemies, _Köttur_ ,” they whisper. They point out the missed set of tracks, outline them with a gloved finger. “One missed detail could mean the difference between life and death. It is much too early for you to frolick the meadows of _Fólkvangr._ ”

Wraith nods again, slowly this time. Bloodhound wonders if their words come across as sage advice over normal, genuine concern. The former proves more amusing as a potential reasoning, though.

"Come. We must follow the trail. Best to find them whilst this one lags behind. Without its pack, it is weak. It will be our target."

With one last survey of the tracks, Bloodhound pinpoints the direction the pack has traveled before standing. If they hurry, they'll likely catch up to the straggler before it reunites with the rest for backup. But Wraith sits stationary, fixated on the overlapping paw prints in the mud. Her gaze remains strong, pensive.

Bloodhound studies her. Can't help but notice some borrowed mannerisms from Ellie — scrunching her face up in anticipation of uttering the wrong words. And one in particular from Anita — heavily-furrowed brows to signify deep thought.

At long last, she shakes her head and stands. "How… long have you been hunting?"

Bloodhound blinks. Another sudden question that knocks them off-kilter. Suspicions bubble under the surface, giving way to curiosity on the nature and underlying intent of it. It sounds like something Ellie himself would dare ask, with all the careful hesitation of Anita baked in. Normally, they wouldn't answer such personal inquiries so plainly, preferring to obscure meaning behind curt words and joking half-riddles. But they'll make an exception here.

"Since I was a child."

"A child…?" she breathes, disbelief creeping across her features. "I guess that isn't surprising. You're certainly knowledgeable. Wouldn't survive out here without you."

The unfortunate truth. Wraith is a formidable warrior, blessed by the goddess Freyja and the Alfather, but the Games present a different challenge. Out here in the Solace badlands, it's kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted. Prowlers have no emotions, no morals. Will _drepa_ on sight. She must know that, but it doesn't explain the sudden question or her off behavior in general.

What little Bloodhound knows of Wraith, they’ve gleaned from Anita and Ellie. Anita rambles endlessly about her in private with a twinkle in her dark eyes. Ellie gets along with her better than anyone despite their constant bickering. Complimenting, though, has never come up in any conversation about her. Interesting and uncharted territory.

The woman in question crosses her arms. She exhales, tilting her head dejectedly. "I— listen. I can practically _feel_ you judging me under that mask…"

She isn't wrong.

"And… you're probably wondering why I'm out here to begin with."

Also not wrong.

Bloodhound rests a hand on their hip, aiming to hear her out.

"Bang— _Anita_. She's… she's your best friend, right? Well, she's my— ah, you know. And Witt. We're close, probably close enough to be siblings — _don't_ tell him that — and you both? He gushes about you. All the time. Says how much you mean to him."

Bloodhound's heart flutters in their chest at her words. Beloved Ellie… Likewise, Anita speaks wonders about Wraith, utterly mesmerized at the unexpected bond blossoming between them.

"What I'm trying to say is. This whole hunting thing. I didn't think it'd be for me. Hell, a part of me still doesn't. 'Nita told me you enjoy it, though. Figured I'd see how it is. Figured if… we're gonna be dating each other's best friend, then maybe we can get to know each other better."

Ah. So that's what this is. A bonding experience.

Bloodhound smiles beneath their mask and tilts their head. Wraith's cheeks burn crimson; she's embarrassed, but her words ring with genuine intent. Anita's circumspection and Ellie's loquaciousness show through her, if only creeping beneath the surface.

"Wraith."

She perks up.

"I enjoy your company on our hunts. You are capable. Strong. Learn quickly. My late uncle, Artur, would be proud to teach you, as I am now."

She parts her lips to say something but refuses. Instead, the ghost of a smile teases at the corner of her mouth. She blushes harder but visibly relaxes.

"If you have questions, ask. But for now, we must catch up to the pack."

Bloodhound claps her gently on the shoulder and gives a quick nod. She stiffens under their touch, but before she responds, they march off to follow the prowler tracks. Wraith tails closely behind, a newfound vigor and enthusiasm resounding in her step.


End file.
